The Black September
by Sydoe
Summary: SPECTRE hires an agent whose skills are unbeatable and now has one mission: kill James Bond! But what secret vendetta does he have against SPECTRE and what is his true agenda? Rated T for action and sexually explicit but mild scenes. Please R&R, no flames


**The Black September**

Chapter I: The Agent from SPECTRE

Near the Eiffel Tower of Paris, France, there was a casino that had reputation and notoriety. It was home to a French duke who had been long retired from his previous profession. The man decided that he still needed a main source of income however, and the only way to do so was to open a casino.

The duke converted half his entire estate into a casino, and opened it to the public, welcoming card players and fanatics from all over the world to come in and join in the game. The casino became highly successful and began to build small branches in certain areas such as Berlin, Las Vegas, Venice, and in Tokyo.

As an incentive strategy to earn more income for his lifetime, the duke hired a number of players to bet his money against others and win it for the duke. They would be rewarded handsomely in thirty percent of what they earned each night.

When they first appeared in the Paris casino, people wondered about them and soon got their answers about them. They knew them by one unique feature since all of them were men and the dress code for customers was a black tuxedo: all of the men playing for the duke wore white tuxedos.

Normally, the players would engage in their strengths with cards. One was assigned to baccarat simply because he had been playing it for the last fifteen years. Another was assigned to blackjack since he was a world-class expert of it. However, there was one who probably earned more income than most, and it was probably because he knew the game like it was an everyday habit. He played high-stakes poker.

The acrid smell of burning tobacco entered the noses of the six poker players as they each noticed a seventh player take a seat at the table just as the next game was about to start. "May I join you gentlemen?" he asked them politely in a tone that was welcoming with challenge and anticipation.

One of the players dressed in the white tuxedo stared first at the features of the challenger. He had a tan tone of color with black hair that was gently combed and groomed backwards. He was handsome beyond belief and had suave facial features that could only be granted by the best of the day's plastic surgeons. He wore an elegant black tuxedo that looked as if it had been hand-sown by experienced craftspeople with fine fabrics from some European country. It was this player in the white tuxedo who answered the challenger, "Please do. Perhaps we may be able to enter a better stake with a seventh player at hand."

The white tuxedo player stared at each of the other players and eyed their chips one by one. He recalled the last few games he had been playing with them and easily recounted those that he won. Technically, he was currently the champion of the game and it was impossible for him to be beaten now.

"Where are your chips?" the white tuxedo player asked the challenger, to which he responded by placing a large block on the table. The white tuxedo player stared at the block for a moment, but then stopped as he noticed a catching feature on the block. Golden streaks, designs, and patterns ran through the block making it an elegant piece of treasure.

"I don't deal in chips," the challenger responded after he caught the white tuxedo player's eye with the block. "I deal in stake-raisers."

Murmurs went through spectators who stood behind the players. Dedicated fans who had been watching the game for hours had finally begun movement as they saw the challenger bet a block of gold.

"According to what I know and what I've calculated, the amount of karats in this block is equal to your chips," the challenger stated. "Let's say we play this quick and bet all-in?"

Alas, a good challenge for the duke's pawn. If he accepted the bet and won the block, he would be beautifully rewarded with the value of the golden block. He figured that the block could give him wealth that lasted over a lifetime since his chips equaled to about fifteen-million euros or so.

But then again, who ever said that the white tuxedo could be ever sure to win? What if it turned out that the challenger had a better hand and would thus take the value of the white tuxedo player's chips? It was a gamble, yes, but one that he might have taken the risk to play. The champion didn't want to embarrass himself first and foremost by declining such a challenging and risky offer.

"I accept," the white tuxedo player answered, and was surprised to see that the other players had folded except the challenger. It was just him and the white tuxedo. The game had begun as soon as they both put in their treasures, which had been considered instantly as the "big bend, small bend" of the game and the immediate end of betting since both had nothing to bet with.

The dealer slipped two cards to his left, the white tuxedo, who immediately looked at the pair of cards. He glanced at them both and remained to keep his bluffing poker face as he stared into a two of hearts and an ace of clubs.

The dealer then slipped two cards to his right, the challenger, who peeked at his cards, and then put them back down. The two players stared at each for a long moment before the dealer asked them if they were ready to see the "river of cards."

They both nodded, naturally, and they looked carefully at the dealer's hand. He burned off one card and pulled out the first three cards: an ace of hearts, an ace of diamonds, and a king of hearts.

The white tuxedo covered his mouth with his hand so as to make a stroking gesture. He secretly smiled at his luck, and waited for the next cards to be dealt.

The dealer burned another card and dealt in the river a jack of hearts.

The white tuxedo player sighed for a moment and looked closely at the challenger. He did not seem to be as worried of the gambit as the white tuxedo was. It was like he had another golden block hiding somewhere in his grasp. What could this possibly mean?

A trickle of sweat ran down the white tuxedo player's honey-haired head and towards his nose, which he wiped quickly to avoid showing any sign of excessive nervousness in the game. He had considered all the odds. He took in his mind every single move and counter-move that could backfire at him. There were no more chances. All that stood between the white tuxedo player and the challenger was luck and a single good card.

"Do you believe in luck, _monsieur_?" the challenger briefly asked the white tuxedo.

"I'd like to think there's a thing the universe that says who wins and loses. What about you?"

"Luck, to me, is only an irony in itself, _monsieur_. A reversal of fortune…"

The dealer made the last burn and put down the final card. It was a ten of hearts.

The white tuxedo player laughed. "Well… Isn't this a surprise?" He put down his hand and revealed to the challenger his ace of clubs, which matched with the two other aces in the river to form an excellent three-of-a-kind combination.

The challenger did not move. He did not gesture to show his cards. He just stared again at his hand and back at the river.

"Well come on then. Show us your hand," the white tuxedo player insisted and demanded.

Slowly, the challenger put down his hands and in an instant, the suspense ended and the surprise of the game's outcome had rose amongst the spectators and the players as they saw the challenger's hand.

The challenger had an ace of spades and a queen of hearts.

The royal flush had just been expertly executed and had won the challenger fifteen-million European dollars.

A frown came on the face of the white tuxedo player. "Inconceivable!" he screamed at the challenger in complete outrage. "I demand a rematch!"

"And how would that be possible, _monsieur_?" the challenger answered in a polite, gentle, but mocking tone. He gestured his hand towards the chips attendant, who began moving them towards the challenger. "You have nothing to bet with."

The white tuxedo player looked as if he was about to explode. Such fury and anger filled his face; it looked as if there was no stopping him from bursting with rage. However, he took the loss like a man and walked away from the table with the infuriated expression still clearly visible on his face.

The challenger stood from his seat and looked towards the other players. Some applause came from them, which made the challenger smile a bit, and answer, "Excuse me, gentlemen, but I might have some business matters to attend to." He gestured towards the attendant, saying, "I'll need this cashed and in a bag. Is that alright?"

"_Oui_, _monsieur_," the attendant bowed and took the chips away, walking towards the counter.

The challenger turned away from the table, but he halted as soon as he heard one of the players ask, "Sir, what is your name?"

The challenger turned and smiled before answering. "The name is Trépas. Alexander Trépas." And then, he turned and walked away with the golden brick clutched in his hands.

The French duke Jean Claude Monduqué, owner and executive chairman of his branch of casinos originating in his home estate in Paris stood on the veranda of his home. A large look of sadness spread over his face as he stared out into the night sky. He wondered what he could ever do to recover fifteen-million euros. It was a considerably large amount of money lost. What made it seem even more defeating was the fact that he lost it through his best player!

It was unfair this thing the players called luck. It was unfair for him to lose so much money so quickly because his employee made the mistake of betting money for some worthless block encrusted with golden design or whatsoever.

Nevertheless, Monduqué made sure the employee never made the same mistake twice. In fact, he made sure that the employee would never make any sort of action for what was to be the rest of his life.

Monduqué turned back to the sliding double doors of his home and prepared to walk in, but stopped as he heard nearby a footstep. He looked to the side of the veranda and saw standing there a tall handsome man in his mid-20's or 30's looking at the duke. His face was exactly as the employee described. Handsome beyond compare; skin as tan as it could get; suave facial gestures… This was definitely the man who took his money.

"Listen--" Monduqué began to threaten, but was interrupted by the younger man.

"I'm sorry to have defeated your pawn, sir, and I am deeply regretful of taking your money," the challenger whose name the employee never actually stated or mentioned said politely. "I'm going to make an offer to you. It's simply something you won't resist."

"Try me," the duke responded.

"The golden bar, which I bet your fifteen-million euros, was actually intended to be lost. However, luck kept sitting by my side and it helped me to win your money. I am now making an offer as a personal gesture to sell you the golden bar, which if you invest in wisely, you may be able to get your money back or more."

"Why don't you just give the money back?" the duke asked.

The young man gave a hearty laugh. "I'm sorry, sir, but it's not my nature to give money without valid reason. Frankly, I find it pointless and foolish."

"Should I be worried about this?" the duke asked.

"Of course you shouldn't, sir!" the young man replied. "After all, it's only a bar. Nothing harmful to it except to the fact that it will help you choose whether or not you wish to get back your money or let it slip through your fingers."

A moment's time passed as the duke considered the offer. The young man could be telling the truth about it. Perhaps the duke could recover the lost money by investing in the block. But then again, how was it possible for him not to? There didn't seem to be a way that would cause him to.

"Alright," the duke answered nodding, and watched as the young man revealed the block to him.

The young man tossed the block to the floor, and said, "Send me a check in the morning." And then, he walked away from the veranda.

The duke picked up the block and stared at it for a long second. The employee's description of the block's design surely was understated. The golden streaks formed rich figures and designs that looked like candy to the eye. It was beautiful. A treasure to the eye was its purpose. He rotated the block in different angles to observe each figure, and stopped at each one he struck as more unique than most.

There was one design in particular that caught his eye: a hand that was formed in solid gold. It looked almost real, as if it was a true tiny golden hand encrusted into the block. He stared long into the hand. He was fascinated by it and tempted by it. One thing came into his mind as he stared at the golden hand and immediately he whispered it out, "The hand of Midas."

Suddenly, a red light began to emanate from the hand. It was a tiny beam like from a laser. The beam began to spread and the whole hand started to glow. Golden streaks connected to the hand followed next and the light began to shine around the entire block. Monduqué was staring at pure solid gold gleaming, glistening, and glowing in his face. The true beauty of the world was in his hands.

And then, in an instant, the glowing block shattered and burst into great balls of flames engulfing Monduqué and the rest of the veranda entirely. The explosion shook the grounds of the estate and echoed through the night. Despite the fact that the casino was on the other side of the estate, screams were shrieked in the distance at the sound of the explosion.

Monduqué's fiery body rolled around in the heat of the burning ground before he keeled over and died in the extremeness of the heat. Like the block that was, the veranda glistened, gleamed, and glowed in the dark like a golden nugget in the heart of Paris.

Alexander Trépas walked towards a public phone booth near the Eiffel Tower, and stopped for a moment as soon as he heard the explosion at the casino estate. He made a sinister smile for a quick moment, and then continued towards the phone booth, where he inserted a coin and began dialing a phone number.

He took a moment to wait as the monotonous ringing continued through the receiver before someone on the other end of the line picked up and answered, "Hello?"

"This is Trépas," Alexander answered in what seemed to be a thick Russian accent. "I have accomplished my mission. Tell Comrade Blofeld I will report to the SPECTRE office tomorrow evening."

Alexander immediately hung up the phone and walked away from the phone booth. As he walked, he whispered secretly to himself with no one around him, "I have you now, double-oh-seven."


End file.
